White Wrap
by niennah
Summary: How music gets Angel and Cordy together... A/C fluff! Just a little ficlet.


**Title:** White Wrap  
**Author:** Anna niannah@hotmail.com  
**Rating:** PG-13.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, I deeply regret to say. I want them, and I want Cordy's apartment, too. Slim Shady isn't mine, either.  
**Summary:** How a certain artist brought Angel and Cordy together. Fluffy!  
**A/N:** Bad pun ahoy. I'm sorry, I couldn't help it! I was feeling fluffy!  
_______________________________________________________________________   
  
  
  
Connor sulked in his room, white rap pounding on the walls. Angel and Cordelia stood in the dim corridor, staring at the door, looking confused.   
  
"What did he just say?" whispered Cordelia.   
  
Angel shrugged, frowning.   
  
"I think he said his name was chikka chikka Slim Shady," he whispered in reply. "Music has changed since my day."   
  
"I cringe to say this, but music has changed since _my_ day!"   
  
They turned and walked towards the elevator. Angel punched the button for the lobby. The doors closed, almost blocking the confusing din and the weird white boy's whiny voice.   
  
  
  
There was a fire burning in the grate at Cordelia's apartment. It was damp evening, cool for LA. Angel lit some candles while Cordelia showered and changed into some loose white pants and a white silk wrap that crossed over and tied at the side. Curtains closed on the city outside, no mission-visions from the PTB, it was one of those rare moments when they could relax.   
  
"But not listening to that!" Cordelia's voice came in from her bedroom.   
  
"I know I'm old, but shouldn't music be, well, musical?"   
  
"You'd think," said Cordelia as she came into the flame-lit living room. Angel caught his breath. Her white clothes contrasted so beautifully with her tanned skin. Her months searching for him had given her hair time to return to its natural mahogany. She was beautiful. It was all Angel could do to retain his composure at such a vision.   
  
"Relax, Angel," she said, reading something of his tension. "Kick off your shoes, sit down."   
  
She sat in front of the fire, crossing her legs, and began to brush her damp hair in the heat. Angel peeled off his shoes, his socks following. It was good to kick back. He watched her for a minute, sitting in the flickering orange light, before kneeling behind her.   
  
"Here," he said gently. "Let me."   
  
He covered her hand with his as he took the brush. Cordelia breathed a long sigh. Angel began to brush, gently pulling the bristles through her thick, glossy hair. He watched the tension seep from her shoulders, as her eyes closed and her breathing became deep and regular. He smiled. It was a long time since he had seen a woman so relaxed in his presence.   
  
"Oh, Angel," she purred.   
  
"Cordy?" said Angel.   
  
"Yeah?" she murmured.   
  
"Tell me how you found me?"   
  
"Angel! Not again!" Cordelia laughed, her eyes open now, and bright, looking up at him.   
  
"Please!"   
  
His wide smile, all white teeth and laughing, chocolate eyes persuaded her.   
  
"Okay," she began. Angel continued to brush. "I was in the Higher Plane with Skip. I was going to be an oracle. But I looked in the eye in my mind, and I saw the Hyperion, but you weren't there. I saw Gunn and Fred alone there, and they didn't know where you were. So I kept looking and looking, in dirty, crowded cities, up in high mountains, in barren deserts, in thick, dark woods, and finally at the bottom of the deep, blue sea. And there you were."   
  
Angel sighed, brushing more slowly as he listened, hypnotized by her fairytale voice.   
  
"So I came back to this plane of existence," she continued, looking up into his eyes. "And I went to the Hyperion. I brought Fred and Gunn to the beach in your car. And when we got there, I concentrated really really hard, and waited, and then I concentrated again. And just when I thought I couldn't do it anymore, there it was. A big, ugly, metal box washed up on the beach. We opened it, and took you home, and I stayed with you and fed you blood, until you were conscious again, and then I fed you some more till you were yourself again."   
  
She stopped. Angel paused in his brushing.   
  
"And they all lived happily ever after?" he whispered.   
  
Cordelia turned, half facing him. Angel put down the brush.   
  
"I don't know about that," she said. "Does anyone ever live happily ever after?"   
  
Angel pushed a stray lock behind her ear.   
  
"Somebody must," he said. "Right?"   
  
"Maybe somebody, but not us."   
  
"Why not us, Cordy? Why not?"   
  
"Because, because of the life we live, and the fighting, and plus, happiness? Not a good idea for you."   
  
Angel smiled.   
  
"I never told you."   
  
"What?" said Cordelia. "You never told me what?"   
  
Angel looked deep into her eyes, the intensity of his gaze nearly making her flinch.   
  
"I never told you that it's anchored now."   
  
Cordelia looked blank.   
  
"It's what?"   
  
"It's anchored," he said, his face so close to hers his voice was barely louder than a whisper. "It's permanent."   
  
"You mean…" Cordelia swallowed, realizing before she spoke what this would mean. "No more curse?"   
  
Angel shook his head, smiling now more gently, his eyes burning like her belly.   
  
She heard the crackling of the fire, could smell the wood. She did not know why these details suddenly became so important, but later, when she told the story, she realized it was so she could remember everything perfectly. But mostly she saw Angel, his eyes on hers still but flicking to her mouth. She realized her breathing had become erratic, as she leaned in towards him, her eyes closing, her hand trailing up his arm to come to rest on his cheek.   
  
He cradled the back of her neck, and brought his lips to hers, tasting her, truly tasting her for the first time. No hasty kiss after Doyle's death, not all the passion of ghostly lovers, could come close to the fire burning in his veins now. She was so warm, her skin warming him deep inside. He opened his mouth and ran his cool tongue over her lips. She opened her mouth in reply, as he deepened the kiss, desperately trying to tell her the depth of his feeling for her, that he wanted her, needed her, loved her…   
  
She pulled back, her dark eyes bright but brimming with questions. He nuzzled in to her neck.   
  
"It's okay, Cordy," he whispered. "Is it okay?"   
  
She turned her head to look him in the eyes. If he had a heartbeat, it would have stopped until she answered. As it was, the few excruciating seconds that passed before she did seemed like infinity.   
  
Then she smiled. Wide and open, megawatt, the fire bright in her eyes. He smiled in reply, then kissed her again, their passion burning hotter than the flames.   
  
  
  
It approached noon when she woke. She turned over among the rumpled sheets and smiled again when she saw him there. He was still asleep, but she was restless. She slipped out of bed, heading for the kitchen. Outside her bedroom she saw the trail of clothes – his dark shirt, her white pants, his black pants, and there, in front of the fire, her white wrap.   
  
  
  



End file.
